


Coming Down

by damnslippyplanet



Series: Songs of Innocence [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: "Canon Divergence" means "Fucking", Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Basically this is just several hundred words of emotional torment, Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, Everything is Mizumono And Everything Hurts, M/M, Specific warnings/tags in chapter notes, doesn't that sound like fun?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 07:39:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6557983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damnslippyplanet/pseuds/damnslippyplanet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If Hannibal’s a sacrifice on the altar of the last of Will’s morality, he’s at least one of those sacrifices who’s treated well until the time comes for the flame or the blade.  Well fed and on his way to being well fucked; Hannibal supposes Will’s been at least as kind to him as to any of the fish he hooks."</p><p>Or: TFW you know that your Murder Boyfriend is about to turn you in to the FBI but he doesn't know that you know and you end up having sad goodbye sex that no one's willing to admit is precisely that.  #relatable</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Down

**Author's Note:**

> This collection is going to be a sort of companion piece to [Songs of Experience](http://archiveofourown.org/series/416652) \- I got several song prompts that just didn't fit into the story of that 'verse, so I'm going to do them as unconnected one-shots over in this collection. These don't necessarily exist in the same 'verse as that one, or as each other.
> 
> I'm afraid this first fic in the collection is Emotional Pain Goes To Eleven but don't run too far away, I promise there are other, fluffier song prompts waiting their turn.

> _I’ve got a lover, a love like religion  
>  I’m such a fool for sacrifice  
>  He’s coming down, down, coming down _
> 
> _~Halsey, “Coming Down.”_
> 
>  

_“I don’t need a sacrifice, do you?”_

Hannibal had asked and Will had not - precisely - answered.  A diversion; a neat side-step.

A toast to consequences. Another glass, and another.  The moment where Will should have stopped, if he were going to drive home. A breath and a look held a beat too long, where either of them could have stopped, and neither of them did. Another glass. Another toast. Freddie Lounds’ perfume thicker in the air than it possibly could have been by then: imaginary, and no less cloying for it.

Dessert, plated beautifully and with Hannibal’s most precise care as he thought _this is the last of it_.  Except it hadn’t been, really.   _This_ will be the last of it, this tangling in Hannibal’s sheets.  

Once in Wolf Trap; twice in Hannibal’s office. Nearly and inadvisedly at Quantico, once, had it not been for an untimely interruption.  Once downstairs, in a frantic snarl of hands and mouths and not enough patience for stairs. And now this, both the first and last time in Hannibal’s bed.  As if they’d been saving it for this; for the last night.

Hannibal understands, now, with Will so far inside him that he’s not at all sure they’ll ever be separable again, that he is the sacrifice.  

He’d understood it even as they walked up the stairs together, close and warm and determinedly not talking of tomorrow.  Freddie Lounds is alive, ergo much of the past weeks has been a lie, and whatever Will intends dinner with Jack tomorrow night to be, it won’t end like this again.

He’d understood it when Will kissed him and betrayal had been a bitter note underneath the sweetness of wine and chocolate. He’d choked down the betrayal and breathed in the rest and reached for Will’s top button.

Most of it has been a lie. But _this_ \- Will’s sweat dripping onto Hannibal’s spine, the twist of their hands together in the sheets, Hannibal’s breath jarring from him with each slow circle of Will’s hips - Will’s not a good enough liar for this to have also been untrue. This is the sacrifice that will hurt them both.

Will had wanted to see his face and Hannibal was the one who’d turned away, rolling sinuous to his stomach instead.  Will hadn’t complained; he’d just leaned in and traced Hannibal’s vertebrae with rough fingertips and velvet tongue. Giving what he could in the time left to them, even as he planned to take it all away.

If Hannibal’s a sacrifice on the altar of the last of Will’s morality, he’s at least one of those sacrifices who’s treated well until the time comes for the flame or the blade.  Well fed and on his way to being well fucked; Hannibal supposes Will’s been at least as kind to him as to any of the fish he hooks.  He probably dispatches them swiftly and with a genuine remorse that does the fish no good at all. He’s kinder than Hannibal’s ever been to his own prey.

And then Hannibal doesn’t suppose much of anything, because Will shifts enough to lean forward, heavy over Hannibal’s back, to mouth at the side of his neck and say, “Come back. Be here with me.”

The shift sends lightning through Hannibal’s body even as the words make him angry, make him want to snap and snarl because _you don’t get to demand that your sacrifice enjoy the proceedings_. Except that his entire body is an instrument tuned to Will’s touch and breath and he can’t find a snarl in him. Only a shudder and a sigh as he finds his way back to words to say, “I’m here. Come on, Will. I won’t break.”  Shoves his hips backward to make his point - _harder, more_.

Not that it’s true that he won’t break, precisely. Hannibal feels all splinters and jagged edges beneath his skin; if he’s not breakable it’s only because he’s already broken.  He’s almost surprised that where Will touches him, his hands don’t come away bloody.

Will moves as he’s bidden, faster, deeper, and his breath in Hannibal’s ear is a sob that almost sounds like an apology.  

_Can you –_

_Are you –_

_Like that –_

_Now, oh  –_

Boundaries blur and vanish. Someone cries out and comes, someone’s cheeks are wet, someone strokes a trembling hand through sweat-damp hair and says _it’s okay, oh, it’s all right_.

Nothing is all right.

It takes a while to come down.  They find a more comfortable position and lie quiet, heartbeats slowing, hands tracing lazy patterns on skin.  It feels like tenderness even though it can’t be. For a while Hannibal tries to follow the lines Will makes against his shoulder as if they might spell out a message.

He thinks if he asked again now, when Will is spent and languid and as close to unguarded as he gets, Will might give a different answer. _I don’t need a sacrifice. Let’s go, now._

He thinks instead he should say _Mercy. Just do whatever you’re going to do now. Arrest me or use the knife in the bottom drawer. Don’t make me wait for it._

He thinks Will may be waiting for him to make the small shift it would take to get a hand around Will’s throat and steal his breath.  He could make Will vanish into tomorrow’s dinner; Jack would suspect but couldn’t prove.  He’s not at all sure Will would fight it.

Instead, Hannibal does move, but only enough to bite a kiss into Will’s skin just below his collarbone.  He sucks and bites hard at the mark and takes very little notice of Will’s noise of protest, or his fretful shifting. He doesn’t stop until he’s sure the mark will be dark; until he can smell blood blooming just beneath the skin.

He presses a thumb to the spot un-gently, watches the skin pale and then redden again under the pressure.  Something for Will to remember him by, perhaps, if Will gets the better of him tomorrow. An interesting finding for Will’s autopsy report, instead, if Hannibal can’t find any other way than to kill Will when the moment comes.

Will says “Ouch” quietly, but doesn’t sit up or move away.

There’s an ache in Hannibal’s throat that he vaguely remembers might be what sorrow feels like.

He swallows it long enough to ask, “Are you staying?”

“I can’t stay all night. The dogs,” Will mutters, and it’s almost normal. Almost a conversation they would have, if they were what they’re each pretending to be.

Hannibal wants to bargain. _Stay an hour. Stay until midnight, until dawn.  Stay here all day tomorrow and we just won’t answer the door when Jack shows up for dinner.  It doesn’t have to be too late._

It’s been too late for quite some time, probably.


End file.
